The Day After

[Jacob Chase]

Surprisingly, the night had passed largely without incident. Chase had managed to beg some old canvas from the sailmaker and used it to make a hammock for De Guarde. Not that he expected the boy to be appreciative of his efforts at all.

Repairs were nearly finished as well. The fore course had been bent after the sailmaker and his crew were done with it and most of the rigging had been set to rights. All that remained for heavy work was the adjusting of sails, but that was mostly routine.

Chase rolled up his hammock after the scant two hours of fitful sleep the crew had been allowed and made sure it was properly tied up before hurrying topside. The normal work of sailing waited to be done.

[Mathew De Guarde]

Aching wherever he knew or wasn't even aware of having muscles the boy had dark rings under his eyes, having slept even less than usual. He groaned when he rolled himself out of his hammock near landing flat on the floor below. He needed a few moments to understand why he was in the rather unfamiliar surroundings and why there weren't any midshipmen in sight.

He blinked and rubbed at his eyes and regretted the action as it sent pain quickly up his arm from his worn muscles. If he didn't hear a shout a bit further along the lower deck he might've just curled on the floor and caught some more sleep. Instead he was jerked somewhat more awake and began to roll his hammock.

Even at that he felt his head nodding back against the still warm canvas, and he willed himself into completing his task with a rather annoyed and grumpy look.

While the other men had slept the whole two hours, he had struggled to do the first, fear lacing his mind and having him wide awake for the most of it. Somewhere into the second hour the exhaustion got to him, and he slept up untill he was to awake again.

"...bloody..." He mumbled and began to drag himself up the ladder, each step making his body protest. "...bloody..bloody.." he repeated unhappily as he reached the top.

[Jacob Chase]

The topmen were already gathering by their respective masts, waiting to have their names checked against the watch-bills. Chase smiled darkly when he saw De Guarde only just appearing at the top of the ladder. He was last, again.

"Shift 'long there!" Colburn called, eliciting a few smirks from the waiting topmen. At least for now they would not have any strenuous work to do.

[Mathew De Guarde]

The boy looked ready to trip over his very own feet, and managed only a small glare to the sailors before he crossed the distance, barely faster than before, and took a stand beside Chase. Last and exhausted and as spiritless as if he were just risen from the dead. "...wot'?" He mumbled looking at Chase and squinting his eyes. Even the muscles of his neck were aching.

He yawned and hadn't even found the strength or will to cover his mouth as he did it, blinking blearily at Colburn.

[Jacob Chase]

Oh Lord. Chase winced at the boy's blunder. Colburn, even more than Watts, was not a man that the seamen wished to be slack in front of. Never mind yawning in front of him and still moving slowly on top of it.

"One more inch of slack from you, De Guarde, an' I'll lay me starter 'gainst yer arse!"

"Stand up straight," Chase hissed, so the boatswain's mate wouldn't hear. "An' fer God's sake don't move like a landsman!"

[Mathew De Guarde]

De Guarde stiffened at the threat and tried to stand as straight as his body permitted. Still he looked more eager to lie down then climb up any mast or do any sort of work demanded of him. He rubbed his eyes again and made a grimace shuffling a few steps further.

He sighed, fighting another yawn:".. I'm movin' .. n' standin'.. decide already." A mutter that was sent to the other sailor to digest. His mind registering perhaps only two things. Starter and slacking, and them two worked together well.

[Jacob Chase]

"Hush!"

Honestly. At least the mast captain was satisfied that everyone was present. The group around the foremast dispersed to begin the work of cleaning the ship. Chase was glad that both watches were going to be used for that, as there was a lot of cleaning and scrubbing to be done. Now that repairs were finished, the brass needed to be polished and the last stains of blood holystoned out of the decks. And of course there was likely to be sail drill at some point during the watch as well.

"C'mon on," he said to the boy. "There'll be time 'nuff fer rest later. Grab a bucket an' let's go."

[Mathew De Guarde]

With a dignified look he turned, grabbed himself a bucket and felt that what they were to do now was far below him. Of course, complaining didn't come to his mind, as at the very least it would've been laughed of, at the very worse his complaint could fall to the wrong ears and hell would break loose then.

"...m' tired." he muttered silently enough that Chase could hear, but it would evade the ears of the man with a starter in hand. With a deep frown he tagged along, trying to make more haste and wishing he needn't.

[Jacob Chase]

Chase grimaced and grabbed a mop and holystone. "So're we."

[Mathew De Guarde]

"Ye've had more sleep though." He complained tagging along, with the bucket in both hands, keeping as balanced as he could.

"This isn't work fer me.." He spoke out of the earshot of Colburn. "'s jus' not right." He hefted the bucket up a little and spilled some of the water from it. He grunted and near dropped it again, as he shuffled on further.

"Shoulda been there.." He nodded to one of the midshipmen standing a good few paces away."...Bloody bucket. 's heavy!" He complained on further, and near dropped it onto a sailor's foot, when releasing it from his hold.

[Jacob Chase]

"Next time y'say this ain't work fer ya t'be doin'," Chase growled, "I'll have y'moved t'another divison."

He splashed the mop into the bucket carelessly and began swabbing at a patch of deck. "Now git t'work!"

[Mathew De Guarde]

It seemed to silence the boy, for other than a rather childish hmpf, he did nothing else to indicate his displeasure at his present assignment. Moving to another division would set him away from the man in whose company he felt safe. He did feel it a form of blackmail, though for what gain, he was still deciding.

He took the holystone that Chase had earlier carried with him and got to his knees placing it against the stained deck. He uttered a heavy sigh at the task before him:".. Wot' if I be doin' t' swabbin' . n' ye this?" He said and looked up at Chase, eager to swap the two tasks.

[Jacob Chase]

"No." Chase's answer was curt and uttered between gritted teeth. "Yer outta sight if yer holystonin', an' that's good fer everybody."

[Mathew De Guarde]

"I'd rather be doin' t' swabbin'. ..don't care if t' others be seein' me." He answered stiffly. "Yer jus' makin' me because yer hate ter do it yesself."

He knelt with a holystone infront of him and his feet tucked under, gazing up defiant at the sailor.

[Jacob Chase]

That was the end of his patience. Chase sloshed the mop down against deck, splattering water all over the boy.

" 'Nother word outta ya an' I'll leave ya t'manage cleanin' by yerself. Swabbin' an' all!"

[Mathew De Guarde]

Lifting his hands in defense from the water the boy looked more than mildly shocked at the 'cold shower' he had received. He fumed, placing his hands against the holystone with jerky motions, starting to scrub just as angrily against the deck and the stain that was blossoming there.

He was tempted to tip the bucket over onto Chase's feet , or have it be lifted and splash down the man's back. In his mind he could almost imagine each detail of that action, and found himself glancing at the bucket more often than not.

[Jacob Chase]

Chase carried on swabbing, his movements stiff and angry. The boy seemed to be doing his best to annoy him and it was certainly working.

"That's more bloody like it," the topman snarled when he paused to re-dampen the mop and saw De Guarde was, miraculously, hard at work.

[Mathew De Guarde]

De Guarde glared at the sailor in response. More bloody like it, tch! He had been quite upset with having to be on his hands and knees acting like he were some mangly servant! Scrubbing the deck away, he moved slowly , inch by painfully slow inch, closer to the bucket, filled now by soiled, dirty water.

Swabbing the deck looked a lot more dignified than staining his trousers while having to make his knees as achy with pressure as they were. He slowly stood up, to stretch each limb and bring some life to it, that was lost with the constant kneeling.

Then he took hold of the bucket and in one single jerk and splash, the water went right for the topman's back. "That's bloody more like it." He repeated in scorn, dropping the bucket back onto the deck and went into a crouch, just about to kneel again.

[Jacob Chase]

The water splashed fully against his back, at once both cold and salty. Chase stiffened up tauter than a length of rigging and nearly dropped his mop. No the boy hadn't just done that. The sting of the water had soaked almost instantly through the bandage around his torso and he could feel every drop turning his still-healing back afire.

"Little bastard," Chase hissed as he turned sharply around. The pain was not so great that it kept his fist from flicking out at De Guarde. There was simply no redeeming value in this boy. What sort of abysmal luck had caused them to be cursed with him?

[Mathew De Guarde]

Not expecting a blow the boy didn't even think to try to avoid the fist, which contacted fully with his flesh. He fell backwards soundly, the crouch in which he'd been near standing a moment ago, causing his balance to be easily lost, and his shock had the boy toppling over, stunned.

Admittedly he'd forgotten about Chase's back during the time that he'd chose to lift the bucket and splash him with it's contents. Perhaps it wouldn't have mattered if he remembered though.

He hissed in pain and rolled to his side, a hand at his rump, and a look of anguish plastered over his face. That smirk was gone, and he wasn't feeling as smug at the victorious splash. "Bloody daf'...blackguard..." He was nursing the bruise that was slowly beginning to blossom on him and still he stared at Chase. Of all the sailors he hadn't expected to be struck by him, and of all the things he hadn't thought he'd have been struck by a sailor. Speechless he reached for the holystone, feeling around him for it, his eyes still on Chase. He didn't just.....

[Jacob Chase]

The boy was trying to grab the holystone. Chase squared his shoulders and reached out quickly to seize De Guarde by his collar.

"Dyer!"

This madness was going to stop. He wasn't going to hit the boy again unless further provoked, but he would give him over to Dyer for watching.

[Mathew De Guarde]

"No. I'll be good!" He spoke hastly, glancing more fearful at Dyer, whom had been kept at bay perhaps only by Chase's own word. " Please. I'll be good!" He pleaded, placing a hand at the one on his collar. " Sorry, Chase!"

[Jacob Chase]

"Really."

Honestly, what did the boy think was going to happen? Dyer was looking confused, which only made Chase sigh. He was never able to stay angry for long.

Chase pushed the boy away and stooped to pick up the overturned mop bucket. "Put the boy t'work, I'm gonna fetch more water fer this bucket, since he's wasted it."

[Mathew De Guarde]

Before Dyer could say anything the youth knelt back to his task of scrubbing the deck with his holystone.

What seemed like a good idea at the beginning only later showed itself for what it really was. Were he to anger Chase too much and he could end without his protection. It wouldn't mean that he would die of course, for from that he was at least still protected by the officers of their ship. However to live as normal a life below decks as he could, he needed Chase. The man was as much his teacher as he sometimes felt to be his protector.

Which was something that the topman said he had to learn to do on his own. Not rely on others to fight his battles or defend him.

He hadn't regretted soaking Chase in water. A part of him felt justified in doing so, and though it was a childish act and served noone, delaying their work, he still considered it right. The other part though felt that he should've acted more mature. Learn from what he was made to do and not act like a spoiled brat that was just told to clean his own room instead of telling his servants to do so.

He had noticed the anger on Chase's face loosen its edge, before the sailor left to retrieve some more water. Perhaps he hadn't been as angry as he first seemed or instead had been quicker to loose it than he was to gain it. Strangely he found solace in that, and a small bit of pride when the stain he had worked so restlessly was gone.

He glanced around him, briefly at Dyer and then at the next part that he needed to scrub. "Don't need yer watchin' me.."He murmured, the words directed to the other sailor. "..I know wot'..i have ter do." He whispered more subtly. "I know." And his thoughts were back with Chase and then another face was before his eyes. Thompson. The marine. He frowned. He needed to look for him later if he were not to fall asleep the moment he was relieved from duty, or if his hands weren't rubbed raw.

[George Thompson]

The last few minutes of a sentry-go on the powder magazine always dragged, Thompson thought. Well, the whole watch dragged down here, 'specially with all that powder locked away in the magazine with its tin-covered bulkheads. Not even an inch of wood between him and who knew how much powder?

The lantern swung from its hook in the deck beam and Thompson sighed.

Finally. There was Sergeant Quinn, carrying a lantern, and at the head of a file of Marines. So, eight bells and the end of his watch, then. About time! He came to attention. "Nothin' to report, Sarn't," he said, and received a nod.

"Right, Mallory, that's you for this post. Thompson, you're relieved. Fall in."

The two Marines changed places and Thompson fell in at the rear of the short column.

Five minutes later, he was back in the Marines' area of the messdeck, aft of the seamens' area, and pulling off his red jacket. He slipped his white drill jacket on, before getting out his mug to lip for'rard to get some water from the scuttlebutt.

Returning to his mess table, he pulled out a rag and a tin of brickdust to start polishing his crossbelt plate and various other bits of brass that were starting to look a bit green.

[Sponsored content]